


>>Hey, Punk

by WhatTheBodyGraspsNot



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Computer-Generated!Bucky, Explicit Language, HospitalRidden!Steve, M/M, Major Illness, and Bucky is a character who he falls in love with, basically Steve plays Sims (more or less) to pass the time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-30
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 01:06:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2047272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatTheBodyGraspsNot/pseuds/WhatTheBodyGraspsNot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve has spent most of his life in the infirmary, where everything is dull cream and off-white and worse than colorless. His escape comes in the form of a computer game, which he plays religiously—especially when he meets a character named Bucky. Because Bucky is different. Bucky is special to Steve.</p><p>Steven: You’re rude.<br/>Bucky: I’m sorry.</p><p>»It’s okay.<br/>»Get out. (Fight)<br/>»Make it up to me. (Flirt)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. >>We've never talked.

When Steve dreams, he dreams in color. 

By day many of his favorite colors remain just out of reach, blocked off by the solid white walls of the infirmary in which he's spent half his life. Azure skies, salt-and-pepper speckled stones, large sweeping fields of varying hues of emerald--all pieces of life that he longs to set eyes on once more.

“You can’t,” they say. “It’s dangerous outside. You’re not ready.”

But the awful cream-colored walls that surround him do nothing but induce a mixture of boredom and nausea. And all Steve wants is some excitement. Some variety.

His mother brings him a laptop, a brand new game sitting invitingly next to it. What he wanted was a sketchpad. Maybe some colored pencils. _Paint_ , if she really wanted to make him happy. But instead, she brings him a laptop and a game. Which…is nice. But not what any parent who listened to their child for even a second would do.

“Thanks,” Steve says, and slides the game into the laptop’s port out of courtesy.

He starts playing it for his mother’s sake—doesn’t want to come across as ungracious. It’s a life-simulator, which Steve finds endlessly ironic and slightly insulting. But he goes through all the motions: creates an avatar for himself, picks its clothes, furnishes its house, etc.

He names it **Steven** , customizes **Steven** ’s face to look as much like him as possible, because if he has to live an interesting life vicariously through a computer game, so be it.

 **Steven** is an artist—has an easel in the corner of his room that Steve can click on and have him interact with. The options aren’t super varied: _Paint >>Large, Medium, Small. _Right away Steve tries to direct his character to paint a large canvas, but apparently he hasn’t leveled his Artistic Skill up well enough so it comes out on the screen as a scribbled mess.

Okay. So he needs to start off small.

Other skills that Steve realizes **Steven** needs to start off small with: athleticism, guitar playing, cooking (the oven caught fire and **Steven** ran around the house screaming until a firefighter made her way to the kitchen and put the flames out). But, the more he instructed **Steven** to carry out tasks that related to each skill—using a treadmill, practicing the guitar, cooking dinner—the more each skill increased, allowing him to yield better results from each interaction.

And contrary to his knee-jerk reaction, Steve actually gets really into it—customizes the patterns on the couch and the pillows, and now the bedroom walls are this really beautiful burgundy. He sets **Steven’s** ‘everyday outfit’ as some jeans and a navy blue sweater that has these interesting little gold buttons on the sleeves, then decides that he should have an outfit for when that one random woman that lives next door comes over at 3a.m.

He enjoys it. Really, he does. The only thing that would make the experience better would be the possibility of interacting with someone else. Like…a _real_ someone else. Because he loves his mom and all, and the doctor is really nice, but he craves social interaction with new people. People his age. People who maybe have the same interests as him and want to talk about the sunset and why the waves wash up onto shore like that because the Earth is on its axis. How pretty the sky can be. That it can literally change colors right before your very eyes if you’re watching at the right time and you’re patient enough.

But there aren’t people like that in his life because his doctor doesn’t have time for him and his mother doesn’t see things the way he does.

There just aren’t people like that, Steve figures.

Until **Steven** meets **Bucky**.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been playing before he realizes that **Steven** can leave the house and walk around the rest of the town. He can talk to other people too—all computer-generated but unique in their own ways. The first place Steve clicks to explore on the map is the art museum. That’s where he meets **Bucky**.

By ‘art museum’, the game means ‘building with all the paintings that you can pick from to put in your house’, but it’s still interesting. Steve clicks around, moves the camera angle to better see one of the paintings: a Mona Lisa that’s been scanned into the game and shrunk down to size. The speakers in the corner are playing some sort of classical piece, but it doesn’t distract from the noise of another person walking into the room.

Steve adjusts the angle, zooms in on the new character until he can see him properly. If clothing is any indication of characteristic, Steve would guess that this particular character is refined yet charismatic, his red button-down shirt rolled up at the sleeves.

And Steve is just learning that **Steven** can wander out of the house. So maybe he can…

Steve clicks on the new character, a small menu popping up next to the brunette.

**Bucky**  
 **Young Adult**  
 **Military: Sergeant**

Oh. That’s new.

There’s also a list of interaction options to choose from.

_> >Friendly Greeting  
>>Rude Greeting_

Steve shrugs, clicking on the first option, because what does he have to lose? It’s then that a dialogue box pops up in the corner of his screen.

**Steve: Hello. Nice to meet you!**

Then the new character turns toward **Steve** , a smile on his face as he nods toward him and another line of dialogue appears in the box.

**_Bucky: Hi there. I’ve never seen you around before._ **

It’s the first interaction that Steve has had with someone besides his mother and the hospital staff in months. And even though it’s impersonal and completely fictional, it makes this tiny blossom of excitement bloom in his chest.

_> >I’m new here._  
 _ >>We’ve never talked._  
 _ >>Mind your own business._  
 _ >>Goodbye._

Initially amused with the blatantly rude option, Steve decides to not be a jerk during his first official conversation.

**Steven: We’ve never talked.**  
 **_Bucky: Why not? You seem like someone I want to talk to._ **  
**Steven: I’m new here.**  
 _**Bucky: Oh. What’s your name?** _

_> >Steven_  
 _> >You can call me “back off”_  
 _ >>Whatever you want it to be (flirt)_

Steve’s eyebrows rise clear into his hairline. Flirt? That’s an option? You can flirt with other computer players? That’s…interesting. But:

**Steven: Steven.**  
 **Bucky: I’m Bucky.**  
 **Steven: Nice to meet you.**  
 **Bucky: Let’s be friends.**

_> >I’d love to be your friend!_  
 _> >Okay._  
 _ >>Never._  
 _ >>Goodbye._

**Steven: Okay.**

Steve finds himself smiling, irrationally fond of this relationship that has appeared out of thin air. And maybe it’s because he’s **Steven’s** first friend, or maybe it’s the way he swings up onto his toes a little when he talks, but something somewhere deep inside Steve’s chest makes room for **Bucky**. In his heart. He just doesn’t know it yet.

 

* * *

 

One of the nurses takes Steve outside in a wheelchair the next morning—something he’s been begging for since day one. The sun, on its journey high into the sky, warms his skin, the calm breeze sifting through his hair as the smell of the hospital grounds’ freshly cut grass fills his senses.

It’s beautiful and it’s everything he’s been wanting since the beginning and it ends much too soon.

“I’m needed elsewhere,” the nurse tells him.

And Steve wants to protest. To tell her that he may be skinny and his arms may look like they’ll snap in half, but he can push himself in this wheelchair and he will if it means even one more moment outside. But he doesn’t do it. He accepts that a lot of these decisions that he used to be able to make for himself are not his to decide anymore.

So he opens his laptop. Boots the game up. Gives a little mental wave to **Steven** when he pops onto the screen.

He’s in the middle of customizing the towels in the bathroom when a notification box appears in the top right corner, signaling that there is someone at the door to see **Steven.**

Steve drags his mouse pointer across the screen to move the camera over to the front door before clicking on it. And he’s not sure what justifies the little spark of excitement that ignites in his chest when he sees who the visitor is.

**_Bucky: Hi Steven. Want to hang out?_ **

_> >Yes!_  
 _> >I’m busy. Maybe later._  
 _ >>Get off my property._

**Steven: Yes!  
 _Bucky: Where do you want to go?_**

_> >-Choose destination-…_  
 _> >Let’s stay here._  
 _ >>I change my mind. I don’t want to spend time with you._

**Steven: Let’s stay here.  
 _Bucky: Sounds good to me._**

And that’s how **Steve** gets his first house guest (except, of course, for his next door neighbor who likes to show up at 3a.m.). He doesn’t know how to entertain guests—has been too busy setting custom patterns for throw rugs to figure something like that out. So he clicks open his ‘personal inventory’, picks out his guitar, and opens up the options.

_> >Practice_  
 _> >Jam Session_  
 _ >>Serenade Bucky_

Oh. ‘Serenade’ like…?

Steve clicks it. Pure curiosity. That’s when **Steven** takes the guitar, walks over to where **Bucky** is examining one of the failed large paintings, and starts strumming. **Bucky** turns around immediately—attention drawn—and smiles.

Steve watches the scene play out from his bed, halfway under the scratchy hospital sheets. He silently gives himself a pat on the back for leveling up his guitar-playing skill before attempting such an endeavor. Lord knows the first few times **Steven** picked up the instrument, it sounded more like the game was crashing than any actual music.

__**Bucky: That was amazing!**  
 **Steven: Thank you.**  
 **Bucky: You’re very good at playing the guitar.**

_> >I practice a lot._  
 _> >I have natural talent._  
 _ >>You sound surprised._

**Steven: You sound surprised.  
 _Bucky: Sorry. You just don’t seem like someone who would be good at playing an instrument._**

Steve huffs, actually insulted by this fake person’s comment. Even if it isn’t normal.

_> >You’re rude._  
 _> >I’m better than you are. (Fight)_  
 _ >>What do you think I’m good at then? (Flirt)_

Steve halts, his pointer hovering over the options. Because hell yes he wants to get a little sassy after that backhanded comment. But then there’s also that last one…and if he picks that last one… But:

**Steven: You’re rude.  
 _Bucky: I’m sorry._**

_> >It’s okay._  
 _ >>Get out. (Fight)_  
 _ >>Make it up to me. (Flirt)_

Augh. Steve longs for the day when he didn’t know he could talk to people and have to stress about possibly flirting with them (not really). He doesn’t know why there’s that little twinge of nervousness when he considers it. Because really, what bad could happen? Nothing. And if it did—if **Bucky** gets mad or decides to not talk to him anymore--then, oh well, he guesses.

Except it’s not that simple. He still doesn’t get it—doesn’t get why **Bucky** and **Bucky’s** opinion of **Steven** matter so much to him. Maybe it’s because **Steven** is an extension of Steve. And maybe if **Bucky** doesn’t like **Steven** anymore, it’ll be like he doesn’t like Steve anymore.

Steve scoffs at himself. Shakes his head. Tells himself he’s being fucking _dumb_ because this is just a game.

**Steven: It’s okay.  
 _Bucky: Good, I thought you were mad at me._**

_> >I could never be mad at you._  
 _> >I AM mad. I’m just choosing to take the high road._  
 _ >>Whatever._

**Steven: I could never be mad at you.**

**Bucky** smiles, apparently pleased with his ability to dodge the bullet of upsetting **Steven.**

**_Bucky: I like spending time with you.  
_ Steven: Me too.**  
_**Bucky: Can I stay over?**_

Steve’s heart drops, unsure of how things have gotten to this. If real life moved this fast, he’d be fucked.

_> >Of course you can stay over!_  
 _> >I’d rather you left._  
 _ >>Only if you make breakfast (Flirt)_

Well it’s not like he’s going to say no. Not with how stupidly airy he feels interacting with  him.

**Steven: Of course you can stay over!  
 _Bucky: Awesome! We’re going to have an amazing night!_**

_> >I’m planning on it (Flirt)  
>>I change my mind. Maybe you should leave._

Well Jesus Christ, that’s not fair, Steve thinks, frowning as he chews on his bottom lip. Those are two polar opposite responses. And now he’s being forced into flirting with him. (He silently wonders if the computer can read his mind—his inner monologue of concerns while he pussyfoots around all the flirting options.) But now he has no choice.

**Steven: I’m planning on it.**

He cringes as he selects it, waiting with one eye open for **Bucky’s** response.

**_Bucky: Maybe you can serenade me again._ **

Oh Christ.

_> >I will. But not with my guitar. (Flirt)  
>>Maybe later._

Oh _Jesus Christ._ What kind of game is this?  
  
 **Steven: I will. But not with my guitar.**  
 **_Bucky: Wow, Steven. I didn’t know you were so flirty._**

Steve longs for the dialogue option “I’m not. My computer is both forcing me into it and helping me out quite a bit.” But what he has to choose from is:

_> >You should get to know me better, then. (Flirt)_  
 _> >I’m like this with everyone._  
 _ >>I didn’t know you were so unobservant. (Fight)_

**Steven: I’m like this with everyone.  
 _Bucky: Oh._**

That’s it. ‘Oh.’ And that smile that was once plastered all over **Bucky’s** face is now gone. So is Steve’s.

Steve panics a little. Kicks himself for making such a hasty decision and not just picking the flirt option. Because now **Bucky** is looking around the room awkwardly. And he feels a lot of that awkwardness translate through the screen. And he needs to fix this.

He clicks on the radio, invigorated by the need to make sure he doesn’t fuck this up. The options that pop up are both comical and exactly what he needs.

_> >Work out _  
_> >Upgrade Speakers_  
 _ >>Dance_  
 _ >>Dance with Bucky_

There we go, that’s the one he needs. Steve selects the last choice, waiting with bated breath for whatever is going to happen next.

What _does_ happen next is this: **Bucky** turns, obviously activated by Steve’s selection, and then they both walk towards each other, meeting in the space between the television and the couch that Steve may or may not have spent twenty minutes customizing. Then **Steven** holds his hands out. And **Bucky** walks into his embrace. And then they just kind of sway together, slow and obviously computer-generated in their movements. But they’re in each other’s arms, and something in Steve’s chest tightens a little.

He sits there, watching the scene unfold for what feels like forever--happy for **Steven** and happy for **Bucky** and maybe a little happy for himself. Because this is the closest he’s ever gotten to dancing with another person. And while that thought is depressing, it’s also kind of sweet. Because if he has to share this moment with a random computer-generated character, he’s glad he’s doing it with **Bucky**.

He falls asleep like that, computer perched on his lap, **Steven** and **Bucky** twirling endlessly together into the night.

 

* * *

 

 

When Steve dreams, he dreams in color.

He dreams of long-stretching planes of sea-green fields, the ocean-blue everything of the deep sea, the bright orange and olive and coral creatures that glide about in the drift of pearl bubbles and diamond-dripped stars.

When Steve dreams, he dreams of Bucky.

He dreams of smooth, nimble fingers and feather-light touches and pale gray-blue eyes that go on deeper than the ocean. He dreams of chestnut hair that’s softer than the bubble-cotton and the silky flower petals that dance in the wind as it blows against his skin.

He dreams of Bucky’s voice, smooth and languid and untouchably cool.

He dreams of Bucky until his eyes open and he’s back in the infirmary and he remembers where he is—how he lives.

Then he tries—squeezes his eyes shut and begs himself to fall back asleep.

 

* * *

 

**_Bucky: You’re my best friend, Steven.  
_ Steven: You’re my best friend too.**  
_**Bucky: We should call each other nicknames.**_  
  
 _> >That’s dumb._  
 _> >I’ll call you _______._

Steve chuckles to himself, typing into the box. **Bucky** may be his friend but he’s also kind of a pain in the ass. And rude.

**Steven: I’ll call you jerk.  
 _Bucky: Ok. I’ll call you punk. Is that okay?_**

Steve laughs, shaking his head. Because that sounds perfect.

**Steve: Yes. That’s more than okay.**

 

* * *

 

 

 **Bucky** invites **Steven** over to his house and **Steven** is successful in setting the stove on fire, just like his first time.

Steve panics, clicking on anything and everything he can as **Bucky** and **Steven** run around the kitchen, screaming until the firefighter comes and extinguishes the fire.

That’s when Steve is certain that **Bucky** is perfect for him.

Er…perfect for **Steven** , that is.

Yes. That’s what he meant.

 

* * *

 

 

Something must level up in their relationship or something, because all of the sudden all these new options are available for Steve to click on. Like:

_> >Tell Inside Joke_  
 _> >Tease_  
 _ >>Play Fight_  
 _ >>Confess Attraction_

…and Steve just doesn’t know what to do with that, to be honest. Like…Play Fight? What the hell does that mean?

(It means that they pretend to punch each other and then end up rolling around on the floor until **Bucky** pins **Steve** to the ground and they just kind of smile stupidly at each other, Steve finds out after curiosity gets the best of him.)

But yeah. Besides that, Steve doesn’t entertain any of the other options. Because they do enough teasing and inside-joke-telling already, and confessing attraction means **Steven** confessing that he’s attracted to **Bucky** and well…you know…

**_Bucky: Hey, punk. How was your day?_ **

It was great. Steve spent half an hour redesigning the bed sheets and lamp shades.  
 _  
_ **Steven: Good. How about you?**  
 **_Bucky: I missed you._**

_> >I missed you too._  
 _> >You’re too clingy._  
 _> >Well we’re together now._

**Steven: I missed you too.  
 _Bucky: Do you want to go on a date?_**

Steve freezes, making sure he read that correctly.

Yep. He read that correctly.

_> >I would love to go on a date with you!_  
 _> >No thanks. I’m not interested in you like that._  
 _ >>Maybe some other time._

Wow. Wow. How is he supposed to answer this? How would **Steven** answer this? Jesus, that’s dumb— **Steven** _is_ Steve, for all intents and purposes. Why is he freaking out about this?

**Steve: I would love to go on a date with you!**

**Bucky** grins, swaying back and forth on his heels a little again.

**_Bucky: Great!_ **

They end up going to the laundromat because the game malfunctions and thinks that that’s a proper destination for a first date. Steve doesn’t care. Because they laugh and they dance to the music that’s filtered in by the wall speakers and it’s perfect.

When the night ends and they somehow transition back to **Steven’s** apartment, Steve feels his eyelids slowly starting to close. But he can’t sleep yet because he’s right in the middle of this date and things are getting interesting and **Bucky** says:

**_Bucky: I think I really like you._ **

and there’s this little crown of floating hearts circling around his head.

But then Steve’s eyes close, and he slowly drifts off into that place in his mind where he’s surrounded by vibrancy and light.

But **Bucky** waits there, all shy smiles and floating hearts.

**_Bucky: I think I really like you._ **

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This right here is a prompt fill that went a little overboard. I hope you enjoyed it. There will be one more chapter to this. 
> 
> EDIT: Jesus Christ, I edited this like 16 times, trying to make it recognize when to bold and when to italicize, but it's still weird. So sorry if that screwed anyone up. I tried. I promise.
> 
>  
> 
> Please feel free to leave a comment if the spirit moves you!
> 
> You can also come find me on tumblr by the same name if you're interested!


	2. >>Confess Attraction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just kidding, there's going to be at least one more chapter after this (possibly two).

**_Bucky: Hey punk, do you want to hear a joke?  
_ Steven: Sure.**  
 **_Bucky: What should you not say when someone hands you their baby?  
_ Steve: What?**  
**_Bucky: “No thanks, I’m a vegetarian.”_**

Steve snorts, an ungraceful giggle sneaking up on him. That’s actually pretty funny.

_> >You’re hilarious!_  
 _> >That was awful!_  
 _ >>Tell me another one!_

“Hello, darling.”

Steve jolts, attention drawn away from the screen as his mother walks into the room, purse draped over one arm and a vase filled with tulips clutched in her other.

“Oh. I didn’t know you were coming today.”

“Got off work early,” she says, leaning over the bed and planting a kiss on the top of his head. “It’s a surprise, for both of us”

Steve nods, eyes following her as she sets the vase down onto his bedside table. The tulips jutting out on all sides are pretty attractive—scarlet and purple and golden yellow.

“I was going to bring lunch, but there isn’t much I can pick up that you’re able to eat.”

“I can eat just fine, Mom,” Steve mumbles.

“The traffic was terrible getting over here.”

It’s like this almost consistently, their conversations disjointed. Steve feels like when he’s talking, she’s just waiting for him to finish so she can say whatever is next in the long list of thoughts that run through her head.

Steve resists the urge to roll his eyes, glancing back at the computer screen in front of him instead.

_> >You’re hilarious!_  
 _> >That was awful!_  
 _ >>Tell me another one!_

“Your cousin is having her birthday party at the park grounds this Saturday.”

“Oh yeah?”

**Steven: You’re hilarious!  
 _Bucky: I’ve been working on that one. I wanted to impress you._**

“That one boy is coming again. I don’t like him.”

“Huh.”

_> >You already impress me._  
 _> >You don’t need to impress me. We’re already friends._  
 _ >>Well that was pretty unimpressive._

“Need to stop at the bakery on the way home.”

“Mhm.”

**Steven: You don’t need to impress—**

“Steven! Pay attention, will you? It’s not polite to play games while someone is speaking to you.”

Steve sighs, very very quietly, and then tears his eyes away from the screen again. “Sorry.”

“Did you even hear a word I said?”

“You’re upset about the party on Saturday,” Steve recites, deadpanned but still trying to fake some sort of interest.

Because what she’s talking about is _not_ interesting. At all. She’s not even supposed to be here right now. It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate her company, it’s just that…well, this is valuable game time. And she doesn’t get that.

“How’s your appetite, darling?”

He tries not to let his frustration from this topic surfacing again show, but it’s difficult. “It’s fine, Mom.”

“Have you eaten today?”

“Yes.”

“How much?”

“Enough.”

“Did you throw up?”

Steve frowns, wincing a little as he looks at her. “Jesus, I’m fi—”

“Did you throw up?”

Her voice is tenser. And she’s in one of her moods. So he sighs, pulling at the loose threads on the edge of his blanket. “No. I didn’t.”

This seems to satisfy her, and she leans back into the chair that she moved beside his bed. “That’s good to hear.”

Her visit stretches well into the night, passed when the nurse brings in “dinner”, and his mother says it’s because she wants to keep him company, but he knows it’s because she wants to make sure he’s eating.

Wants to make sure that he finishes most of what’s on the plate.

Wants to make sure that he’s able to get through the meal without throwing it all up moments later.

He doesn’t.

\---------------------------------------

**Steven: You’re hilarious!**  
 ** _Bucky: I’ve been working on that one. I wanted to impress you.  
_ Steven: You don’t need to impress me. We’re already friends.**  
 **_Bucky: Best friends._**  
 **Steven: Best friends.**

\-----------------------------------

 **Bucky** more or less lives with **Steven** at this point—is over so much that Steve has to buy another bed and place it next to **Steven’s** because for some reason they won’t sleep in the same one. Steve doesn’t understand it at first. It’s a bed made specifically for two characters to be able to use. But every time **Bucky** crawls under the covers and the lights going off (Steve set them to automatically switch off when the person in the room is sleeping), **Steven** will walk up to the other side of the bed and stomp his foot, arms reaching into the air in a long-suffering groan. Like having **Bucky** in his bed is the worst possible thing to happen to him. Not his living room bursting into flames. Not the infamous next door neighbor’s dog jumping up and knocking him on his ass while **Bucky** doubles over in laughter nearby.

Turns out, you can only share a bed if you’re in a relationship with the person you’re sharing it with. Which is dumb, Steve thinks, because he used to sleep in the same bed as his friend Sam when they had sleepovers growing up, and _they_ weren’t in a relationship.

But, such is the problem with a computer game. The code that’s written is written and there’s not much he can do to bypass it.

So he buys another bed. Customizes it until the bedspread is a dark navy with golden swirly circles. And he thinks it’s perfect for **Bucky** because it compliments his eyes and his hair looks pretty defined and beautiful falling across the cotton-white pillows like that.

Steve kind of wishes he could feel what **Steven** feels: knowing that there’s someone alive and breathing and sleeping next to you. Half of him wishes that he had a roommate, someone he could talk to whenever he wants. Someone who isn’t his doctor or his mother. Someone like **Bucky**.

He could lie there and stare at the ceiling like he always does, but then he could turn his head—glance over at **Bucky** and smile because **Bucky** would already be smiling at him, lost in whatever he had been thinking about. And he’d say something like ‘What’s so funny, punk?’ or ‘I can’t sleep either,’ or ‘Don’t worry about treatment tomorrow. You’ve done it how many times already? It’s nothing new.’ and Steve would have no choice but to believe him.

He wishes he had someone like that.

He wishes he had **Bucky**.

\---------------------------------------

_> >Tell Inside Joke_  
 _> >Tease_  
 _ >>Play Fight_  
 _ >>Confess Attraction_

\---------------------------------------

 **Steven** learns the hard way that if you leave the fireplace lit for too long, there’s a good chance that your living room is going to burst into flames.

He and **Bucky** run around screaming until the firefighter comes again.

It’s kind of their thing, now.

\--------------------------------------

 The very first interaction that he has with  **Bucky** today is practically heart-melting.

**_Bucky: Do you want to go on another date?_ **

_> >One was enough._  
 _> >I’d love to._  
 _ >>Maybe later._

**Steven: I’d love to.  
 _Bucky: Wow, two dates in a row. I consider myself lucky._**

Steve does his best not to grin stupidly at the screen. But come on, if real people talked like that, they’d be snatched up and married in a second.

**Steven: Why?**  
 **_Bucky: Because.  
_ Steven: Why, jerk?**  
_**Bucky: Because I think I really like you.**_

_> >Confess Attraction  
>>Express Disinterest_

Oh.

Steve exhales loudly, sitting back against his propped up pillows and scanning the selections.

Oh.

It’s not fair, really. It’s another one of those polar opposite things. Like, his only two options are confessing his crush or turning **Bucky**  down and probably ruining their friendship. It’s not fair.

His gut reaction is to pick the first one. Because, okay he— er, **Steven** really likes **Bucky**. Obviously. It’s not a question anymore. But confessing means opening up and that’s scary, whether it’s real life or in front of a computer screen.

But…

**Steven: I really like you too.**

And **Bucky** rocks back and forth on his heels—that thing he does when he’s particularly excited or pleased or genuinely happy. It makes Steve smile, unabashed now. Because no one is here to judge him for it.

**_Bucky: I guess I’m REALLY lucky, then.  
_ Steven: Not as lucky as me.**  
_**Bucky: I’ll fight you on that, punk.**_

_> >Go ahead. Make your move. (Flirt)  
>>Fine, you win._

**Steven: Go ahead. Make your move.**

The smile on **Steven’s** face isn’t as bright as **Bucky’s** , which isn’t as bright as Steve’s. He feels like he’s outside, lit and warmed and comforted by the sun without even leaving his bed.

Then **Bucky** lurches forward, puts **Steven** in a goofy headlock, beaming and laughing and they’re both lit up with what Steve can only assume is the computer version of joy. Then **Bucky** lets go, lets **Steven** up, lets them get impossibly closer until they’re practically on top of one another.

**_Bucky: Can I kiss you?_ **

_> >Please  
>>Not yet_

And then the laptop battery runs out.

Steve freezes, staring into the blackened screen in front of him.

What… What the _fuck_ just happened?

“No,” he breathes out, following the laptop’s chord with his fingers until it reaches the port in the side of the machine. “No. No no no…”

A small amount of pressure has the charger snapping back into the port, apparently never plugged in in the first place. His laptop had been running on battery this whole time, not charging. And now his game is gone.

“No no no no,” Steve chants, this small hole in his chest beginning to open up as he starts his computer back up and waits on bated breath as he boots the game back up.

**_Bucky: Do you want to go on another date?_ **

Steve blinks, not sure if he’s happy that his game auto-saved at this moment, or devastated that it’s not further along.

Okay. Okay, not problem. He just has to follow the same steps and make the same selections that he did last time and he should be right back to where he was.

**Steven: I’d love to.  
 _Bucky: Great! Where do you want to go?_**

_> >Choose Destination…_  
 _> >Let’s stay here._  
 _ >>I change my mind._

Steve frowns. That’s… That’s not right. That’s not what **Bucky** is supposed to say.

He’s supposed to say that he feels lucky to be going on a second date with hi—ahh **Steven**. God damn it…

He goes for it anyway, hoping upon hope that he can somehow get to where he was before he so stupidly fucked everything up.

**Steven: Let’s stay here.**  
 ** _Bucky: Okay. Do you want to watch a movie?  
_ Steven: No.**  
 **_Bucky. Oh. I could make you dinner?_**  
 **Steven: No.**

Steve practically growls in frustration. No. No, he doesn’t want any of that.

**_Bucky: Okay…what DO you want to do?_ **

To get back to the fucking conversation that they were having before his laptop died! That’s all!

_> >Let’s watch TV._  
 _> >Let’s dance._  
 _ >>Let’s talk._  
 _ >>Never mind. Maybe you should go._

Steve sighs, his head tilting back and hitting the wall in annoyance.

This would be a lot easier if **Bucky** was real.

\-----------------------------

When Steve dreams, he dreams in color.

He dreams of cream-cool snow and the glass ruby berries that plop down into it and disappear before his eyes.

He dreams of blue-gray vision and blue-gray eyes and blue-gray everything, fingers and skin and lips softer than the ocean surf and warmer than honey-light sun that kisses him with dew drop brilliance.

When Steve dreams, he dreams of Bucky, close and real and touchable underneath his fingertips, underneath his lips.

When he dreams, he dreams of kissing Bucky.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please feel free to leave a comment if the spirit moves you!
> 
> You can also find me (by the same name) and come say hi on Tumblr. I like to make new friends and would love to hear what you think of the story so far! :)


	3. >>Woo Hoo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> >>I’m having a bad day.

Steve wishes he could be in **Bucky’s** world more and more.

When he’s talking to his mother.

When the sun is still up but he’s too tired to keep his eyes open.

When they tell him to eat more but he doesn’t have a fucking appetite, for Christ’s sake. How many times does he have to say it?

When he’s sitting there in the half-circle with the others--because he’s told that it’s easier when you’re not alone and being engaged in a conversation can help take his mind off of the liquid dripping down to underneath his skin and spreading inside of him.

That’s when he wishes he’s with **Bucky** the most. When he sees the others and it’s impossible not to dote on the fact that that’s what he’s going to look like eventually. He’s going to be like that.

But **Steven** won’t. **Steven** will continue to be and look and act like **Steven** until Steve decides to change him. Steve has control—if not over his own life, then at least over **Steven’s**. And that just has to be enough.

**_Bucky: How was your day, punk?_ **

_> >Wonderful! I learned how to cook pasta._  
 _> >It was okay._  
 _ >>I’m having a bad day._

**Steven: I’m having a bad day.**

**Bucky’s** expression falls, a concerned frown appearing.

**_Bucky: That’s no good. We have to fix that!  
_ Steven: I don’t think you can.**  
_**Bucky: I can try. Tell me what would make you feel better.**_

_> >It’d be better if you left._  
 _> >Tell me a joke._  
 _ >>Can I have a hug?_

Steve sighs, eyes heavy and weary from treatment.

**Steven: Can I have a hug?  
 _Bucky: Of course you can! You don’t even have to ask!_**

And then **Bucky** steps forward, wrapping his arms around **Steven**. And Steve closes his eyes--puts himself in that place, warm and secure and loved--pictures himself in those arms. And it has to be enough.

**_Bucky: Feel better?  
_ Steven: A little.**  
_**Bucky: I’ve got plenty of hugs. I can do this all night.**_

They do.

 

* * *

 

 

Steve knows it’s weird—that finding comfort (to the level that he does) in a computer character is abnormal. But it’s what he’s got.

 

* * *

 

 

They go on two more dates— **Steven** and **Bucky** , that is. The first one is at a butterfly garden on the far end of town that Steve didn’t even know about. The second is at the park, where **Bucky** pushes **Steven** on a swing until **Steven** falls off gracelessly, because for some god-forsaken reason, using a swing set is considered an athletic activity. And Steve’s been focusing on leveling up **Steven’s** artistic and cooking skills. Not athletic. So **Steven** falls backwards off the swing, landing on his back.

And **Bucky** is highly amused, holding his sides as he laughs. Steve feels a rush of second-hand embarrassment as he watches, silently apologizing for not preparing **Steven** for an activity of this caliber. Then **Bucky** leans over **Steven** , looking down at him upside down. And he smiles. And **Steven** smiles. And Steve smiles.

**_Bucky: Are you hurt?  
_ Steven: No. Just my pride.**  
_**Bucky: You sure? You sure you don’t need me to kiss it better?**_

Steve’s heart drops in his chest a little, a wave of uncertain excitement washing over him. Because this is it. This is where he was supposed to be a few nights ago before his laptop’s battery ran out. This is…

_> >That’s okay. I’m fine._  
 _> >On second thought, I think I might need that kiss._

Jesus. His hands are actually trembling, and it may be from the meds but there’s a good chance that it’s from something else.

**Steven: On second thought, I think I might need that kiss.  
 _Bucky: I was hoping you’d say that._**

And then **Bucky** leans in.

And **Steven** leans in.

And Steve feels like it’s taking forever, but then they kiss, slowly but very sweetly. And when **Bucky** leans back up--still upside down for **Steven** \--they both just kind of look at each other, and Steve swears for a moment that they’re real and they’re feeling and they’re both there, minds running at breakneck speed but still so fucking slow in order to process what their hearts might be doing.

**_Bucky: You’re good at that.  
_ Steven: So are you.**  
_**Bucky: Wanna do it again?**_

Steve does.

He really, really does.

 

* * *

 

 

They _do_ do it again.

At the park. At the movie theater. On **Steven’s** couch. In **Bucky’s** kitchen.

They kiss. A lot.

 

* * *

 

 

Kissing must open up another branch of more intimate options to choose from, because now when Steve clicks on **Bucky** , a plethora of selections bloom from his pointer.

_> >Kiss_  
 _> >Hug_  
 _ >>Hold Hands_  
 _ >>Make Out_  
 _ >>Propose Going Steady_  
 _ >>Woo Hoo_

Steve frowns, one eyebrow rising in confusion. Woo hoo? What the fuck is that? He clicks it, curiosity getting the best of him.

**_Bucky: Um…I don’t think we’re ready for that yet._ **

_> >Okay.  
>>I think we are._

What the hell? What is this?

**Steven: I think we are.**  
 ** _Bucky: I’M not ready.  
_ Steven: Why not?**

And then **Bucky** frowns, takes a few steps back, and fucking _glares_ at **Steven**.

**_Bucky: Look, I said no. Back off._ **

Shit. Steve panics a little, eyes scanning his response options for something that will both make **Bucky** less angry and also help him understand what on God’s green earth Woo Hoo-ing is.

_> >I didn’t mean to make you mad. (Apologize)  
>>Why are you being like this? (Argue)_

**Steven: I didn’t mean to make you mad.**

**Bucky** stares, glare still fixed in place, and if Steve didn’t know any better, he’d think it’s like he’s trying to read if **Steven** is being serious or not. But… **Bucky** isn’t real. So that’s not what he’s doing.

**_Bucky: It’s fine._ **

Later that night, Steve actually uses his laptop for something other than simulating the life he wishes he might have. Instead, he pulls up the internet search bar, typing in the offending phrase that nearly derailed his—er, **Steven** and **Bucky’s** relationship.

 _Woo Hoo is used as a euphemism for sexual intercourse_ , the screen tells him, and--

Jesus. Christ.

He asked **Bucky** to have sex with him.

Steve thinks he’s going to die of either embarrassment or the vast intrigue that stems from this new information.

 

* * *

 

 

He sleeps very easily that night—and it may be because he’s doped up on medication, or it may be because he desperately wants to dream—but his eyes close and he drifts off like clockwork.

He dreams, but he doesn’t dream of **Bucky**.

 

* * *

 

 

 **Steven** and **Bucky** adopt a cat together. Well…more like **Bucky** got a cat but it definitely likes **Steven** more—running to the door whenever he arrives. **Bucky** does the same thing, actually. Steve has a hard time deciding which is cuter. They both greet him with excitement. They both seem like their day has just gotten so much better just from **Steven’s** very existence. They both jump on him and give him a kiss. (Yes, **Bucky** actually tackled **Steven** to the ground as soon as he opened the door once, only to crawl up his body and plant a kiss on his mouth.)

They’re both adorable. The cat is cute and compact and has dusty blonde fur like Steve’s hair used to be. Her name is **Boo** , and Steve knows that the game named it that, but he still gets some sort of odd enjoyment out of thinking that **Bucky** picked out that name for her—sat down and thought hard about the perfect name and somehow ended up with **Boo**.

She likes to climb on the tops of the cabinets in the kitchen, pouncing when the time is right. It usually scares **Steven** half to death, so Steve figures her name is a good match for her, regardless of if any thought was put into it or not.

Sometimes, when **Bucky** and **Steven** are curled up on the couch together ( _> >Cuddle)_, **Boo** will jump up, making herself comfortable in the mess of their tangled legs. She settles into a groove, falling asleep almost instantly. (Steve can tell by the little zzZZ’s that float up past her head as she dozes.)

That’s when **Steven** and **Bucky** lean in real close, no space left between them, before pressing their lips against the each other for what feels like seconds, but is hours in the game’s progressive-time system.

 

* * *

 

 

_> >Kiss_  
 _> >Hug_  
 _ >>Hold Hands_  
 _ >>Make Out_  
 _ >>Propose Going Steady_  
 _ >>Woo Hoo_

Steve kinda wonders what he has to do to get **Bucky** to want to Woo Hoo.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s the middle of summer and it’s hot as balls outside. But Steve’s mother gives him a hat for when he’s in the room, since his bed is right underneath the air conditioning vent, and “No I’m sorry ma’am, we can’t regulate the temperature in a single room, that’s not how the building is ventilated.” and “My son is dying. He deserves to not have to freeze as well.” and Steve just wants to curl up in a ball and disappear.

The beanie is nice, though. He likes it quite a bit. It also stops a lot of people from staring whenever he manages to find someone to roll him outside for some air. Because wearing a wool hat in the middle of the summer might be obvious, but it makes him feel like less of a spectacle. Because now they’re looking at the cap. Not him.

He gives **Steven** a beanie too. They match. The very first time he sees **Bucky** with it on, **Bucky** says **_Hey, I like your hat, punk._** And Steve has to wonder how the game could possibly know that **Steven** has a beanie now. There are ways, he guesses, but maybe a part of him--way way in the back of his mind--maybe a part of him thinks **Bucky** is talking to him. Not **Steven**. That he’s saying that Steve doesn’t look as gross as he feels. That Steve can be…nice-looking. Beautiful, maybe.

Steve holds onto that—has a death-grip on it that he’s sure he’s never going to let go of. Because he’s not hearing that anywhere else. So that has to be enough.

 

* * *

 

 

**_Bucky: I have a question for you.  
_ Steven: What is it?**  
 **_Bucky: I’m nervous.  
_ Steven: Don’t be.**  
 **_Bucky: You make me nervous.  
_ Steven: We’re best friends.**  
 **_Bucky: I know.  
_ Steven: So then don’t be nervous.**  
 **_Bucky: Doesn’t work like that, punk.  
_ Steven: Just ask me.**  
 **_Bucky: Okay.  
_ Steven: Okay.**  
 **_Bucky: We’ve been on a few dates, right?  
_ Steven: Seven. We’ve been on seven dates.**  
 **_Bucky: Right. So I was wondering…if you wanted to be exclusive.  
_ Steven: Exclusive?**  
 **_Bucky: Yeah like, just you and me.  
_ Steven: Dating?**  
 **_Bucky: I mean…I’m asking if you want to be my boyfriend or not.  
_ Steven: Oh.**  
_**Bucky: Yeah. So…what’ll it be, punk?**_

_> >I don’t think we should limit ourselves. (Decline)  
>>I’ve been waiting for you to ask. (Accept)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo Hoo is actually from Sims...so...there's the disclaimer for that.  
> One more chapter after this!
> 
> Thanks for reading! Please feel free to comment if the spirit moves you!  
> You can also find me (by the same name) and come say hi on Tumblr. I like to make new friends and would love to hear what you think of the story so far! :)


	4. >>Hey, Jerk.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Bucky** is sweet and honest and makes Steve feel like maybe if people in real life could be like **Bucky** , he’d have an easier time not hating them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning:  
> This chapter gets a little dark. There are some distressing themes such as: hopelessness, depression, brief suicidal thoughts. Please take this into account before reading further.  
> Thank you :)

**_Bucky: Right. So I was wondering…if you wanted to be exclusive._ **   
**Steven: Exclusive?**   
**_Bucky: Yeah like, just you and me.  
_ Steven: Dating?**   
**_Bucky: I mean…I’m asking if you want to be my boyfriend or not._**   
**Steven: Oh.**   
**Bucky: Yeah. So…what’ll it be, punk?**

Steve wonders if this is what it feels like—to be asked out. That one girl in junior high asked him out, but she was loud and obnoxious and 70% of Steve wondered if she was just doing it on a dare. He had said no. Felt bad about it. And then moved on.

 **Bucky** is not loud and obnoxious. **Bucky** is cool and witty and sometimes a total dork if the situation calls for it. (You’d be surprised how many situations call for it.) **Bucky** is sweet and honest and makes Steve feel like maybe if people in real life could be like **Bucky** , he’d have an easier time not hating them.

Like, if his doctor would put down that fucking clipboard for three seconds and talk to him like a human being, not a patient—because Steve is more than just his statistics and vitals written down on paper--or maybe if he tried a little compassion, something like **_What can I do to make you feel better_? ** like **Bucky** says when Steve is in a shit mood (therefore **Steven** is in a shit mood), and he ends up telling him these incredibly awful jokes. And Steve shakes his head and laughs because _Christ,_ that was terrible, but he’s smiling. He’s not thinking about how he hasn’t been taken outside for a while and he’s not feeling the ache and he’s not sad for that moment when his eyes fall onto the screen.

So when the options display themselves, clear and ready--

_> >I don’t think we should limit ourselves. (Decline)  
>>I’ve been waiting for you to ask. (Accept)_

\--Steve doesn’t even have to think.

**Steven: I’ve been waiting for you to ask.**

And **Bucky** rocks back onto his heels a little, pleased and in high spirits and **adorable**.

 **_Bucky: Can I kiss you?  
_ ** **Steven: You don’t have to ask.**

 

* * *

 

 

 **Boo** the cat is almost as ecstatic about **Steven** asking **Bucky** to move in as **Bucky** is. Because that means she has maximum time to wrap herself around **Steven’s** legs as he’s walking and trip him. It’s all out of love, though. He can tell, because while **Bucky** is busy laughing his ass off, **Boo** trots up to where **Steven** has fallen and lovingly rubs her side up against his body.

He has to go into _Buy Mode_ and purchase all of her essentials that were left in **Bucky’s** house, but it’s okay because it means he has more stuff to spend an irrational amount of time customizing patterns for. For instance, her tiny padded bed that he places near the door is now this lovely red and peach design, gradated in a sort of wavy pattern that contrasts nicely with the pale blue carpet. He spends a solid ten minutes customizing her food dish, and then another five getting her toys squared away, and he swears that if he lives long enough to have his own pet, that thing is going to be so beyond spoiled and it’s going to be fucking great.

 

* * *

 

 

It feels like a milestone—deleting the bed that he put in **Steven’s** room for **Bucky** because their relationship wasn’t high enough to share one.

The gigantic bed he places right smack dab in the middle of the room is glorious—curling, ornamental posts and railings and plush ruby bed sheets that are fit for a king…er…king _s_. The bed also opens up some pretty interesting interactions.

_> >Daydream_   
_> >Rest_   
_ >>Cuddle_   
_ >>Make Out_   
_ >>Woo Hoo_   
_ >>Try For Baby_

Steve snorts, distractedly taking the small plastic medicine container from his nurse and popping the pills in his mouth without taking his eyes off the screen.

Try For Baby. That’s hilarious. Shouldn’t the game register that neither **Steven** nor **Bucky** have the proper equipment between the two of them to carry out that task?

Steve chuckles, tipping his head back as he drains enough water to swallow the pills down. Who would even carry the child? **Bucky** , probably. He’s always fussing over **Steven** like a mother anyway. He’d be a good choice to fill that role.

The other options on the menu hold his interest with equal merit. They’ve cuddled already. Daydream and rest? Hell, **Steven** can do that shit without **Bucky** if he really wanted to.

And of course, there’s always that Woo Hoo option too. Which, yeah Steve’s not going to lie and say that he hasn’t thought about that since the very first time the option popped up on his screen. But he doesn’t want a repeat of last time. So he waits.

 

* * *

 

 

They’re at the park when **Bucky** says it—the park where they had their second date and **Steven** fell off the swing backwards because athleticism isn’t his thing and **Bucky** laughed at him and then kissed him. That park.

**_Bucky: I really like you, you know._ **   
**Steven: I know.**   
**_Bucky: A lot._**   
**Steven: Yeah, I like you a lot too, jerk.**   
**_Bucky: No like, I think I love you._**

Steve blinks. Blinks again. Feels his heart beat and the coarseness of the scratchy blanket beneath him and the cool rush of…he doesn’t know what. He doesn’t know _what_ this is. It’s this heavy twist in his chest and it hurts, but at the same time he never wants it to stop.

Then, for the first time, **Bucky** speaks out of turn—doesn’t wait for a response before speaking again.

**_Bucky: I do. I love you._ **

And Steve realizes that that’s what his chest is doing. It’s opening up and taking it in and letting Steve know that—

**Steven: I love you too.**   
**_Bucky: Really?_ **   
**Steven: Really.**   
**_Bucky: You’re not just saying that because I said it first?_**

Steve closes his eyes. Tries to ground himself. Tries to remember that this is a game and that it doesn’t matter and it isn’t real and it doesn’t count but—

**Steven: I’m saying it because I mean it. I love you.**

It all comes together perfectly. And Steve doesn’t think that anything in the entire world can ruin this for him.

Until it does.

 

* * *

 

 

At first, he doesn’t think he hears her correctly. Doesn’t think that that’s what she meant. Couldn’t possibly be.

Then she says it again.

“I need it for work, dear. I got a new job, down at that firm on Third, and they don’t provide the computers for us there, and well--…”

But Steve has checked out. Gone stone cold.

She’s taking it.

She’s taking the laptop.

“Is there…” he tries, _tries_ not to sound desperate. Like his entire life isn’t contained on that hard drive. “…is there another way?”

“Oh dear, I know you like that game, but—”

“Mom—”

“—can find other things to do without it, darling.”

But Steve’s chest is starting to tighten, panic beginning to flood his veins. Because it’s not just a game. It’s-- “Mom, please. I don’t think you understand—”

But then she’s smiling at him, a dismissive sort of pity as his fingers subconsciously clench onto the laptop when she pulls it away and there goes everything that has kept him sane and relatively happy and loved and… And it feels like the ground is opening up and swallowing him and he doesn’t want to go back there—back into that darkness—back before he had the game and he had a distraction and he had **Bucky** —

“Mom, please,” he’s not masking his desperation now. Not even a little. “You don’t get it. They don’t talk to me here--no one talks to me. I’m alone and that’s what keeps me going—he actually cares and doesn’t treat me like—MOM!”

But she’s walking towards the door, his life tucked beneath her arm as she turns and throws him a look of motherly pity that does nothing but enrages him—makes him want to jump up from this bed and chase her down at take back what he needs because no one knows what he needs except—

“I’m sorry, darling. If there was any other way...”

And for the first time since Steve’s been in this godforsaken infirmary, he hears actual sincerity in her voice. Care. Guilt.

But then she’s gone.

 **Bucky’s** …gone.

Just like that.

And he doesn’t know how to cope.

So he sits, mind reeling and eyes scanning the room and waiting to wake up…except he’s not dreaming.

 

* * *

 

 

The real world is not interesting.

The real world is not interesting and/or worth living for because Steve’s real world is a small, sterile hospital room that smells like antiseptic and the only color is the red emergency button by his head and the dying tulips on his bedside table that his mother keeps forgetting to take out.

 

* * *

 

 

Back before Steve met **Bucky** , he would sit and plan out what he would do when he was done with chemo and possibly allowed back into the real world. He planned what his first non-shitty-hospital meal would be (steak and spaghetti and chocolate cake and the potato salad that his cousin makes for special occasions). He planned his first trip out of the state (the Grand Canyon in Arizona, and then possibly just keep heading west until he hits California and then the Pacific Ocean). He planned which family members he actually wanted to see (his cousin) and which family members he didn’t want to see (everyone else).

He planned it all. So there’s not much else to make mental arrangements for, which stinks because Steve liked doing it, actually. It injected him with a kind of hope that isn’t common where he is. A kind of “I need to get through this so I can go do these things”. But there’s not much left. So it’s not his fault if he kind of draws into himself a little bit more and a little bit more. Because when he reaches for something, someone, outside of his own head, he gets no response.

His room may be small, and it would be crowded, but he still kind of wishes he could have a roommate. Together, in sickness and in health. Just to talk to. He could tell them about all of his plans and that one time in fifth grade when he got his shit rocked by Lester Moore but he stood up for that girl and she kissed him on the cheek for it. He could tell them about how he likes to draw and would be over the moon if he could get his hands on some paint. He could paint _them_ , if they wanted. Sure. It’d be a great way to pass the time. And maybe, _maybe_ if they talked long enough and got to be good enough friends, and maybe if Steve trusted them enough, he could tell them about **Bucky**.

 

* * *

 

 

Steve badgers the first nurse of the day enough that she finally caves in and takes him outside around the hospital grounds. The fresh air is enough to calm him, but not enough to fill that gaping void in his chest that materialized when **Bucky** vanished. He misses him. And he misses the sun. But he has the sun now, warm and comforting and sweet against his skin. And that has to be enough.

The groundskeeper is tending to the bed of marigolds that bubble out and around the walkway. Some of the droplets of water from her watering can bounce playfully off the soft petals and seep into the soil below, where they cling to the parched roots.

Steve sighs, eyes heavy from the morning’s treatment with the rest of the half-circle. His nurse doesn’t say anything, just keeps pushing his wheelchair along like he is another chore that needs doing. Because he is.

It’s too hot for his beanie, so Steve slips it off his head, feels the sun warm the skin there, and closes his eyes.

It’s been a week without **Bucky** and honestly, he’s not sure how he managed to get this far without metaphorically pulling his hair out. Because now there’s not much of anything. To do. To look forward to. To think about.

The nurse says something to another nurse who is passing by, and then Steve’s eyes lock onto something across the grounds. Something that makes his stomach lurch.

At first, he thinks he’s seeing things—couldn’t possibly be in his right mind—that mop of chestnut brown hair. Then he blinks. And blinks again. But what he sees—the boy sitting hunched over on the bench near the fountain, not listening very well to whatever the nurse sitting next to him is saying—he’s there. Steve’s brow furrows, the familiarity overwhelming. And he wants to see his face. Wants to get closer and possibly…

“Who’s that?” Steve asks, but the nurse continues pushing him, now headed in the opposite direction of where he would like to go. “Excuse me, do you know who that guy is?”

“I think that’s enough air for right now,” she answers. And it is most definitely not the answer Steve wants.

But it’s the one he gets. And he’s just about to lose sight of the boy so he snags one more quick peek, craning his head to see the gray eyes that look away from the nurse’s lecture in a huff.

 

* * *

 

 

When Steve dreams, he dreams in color.

He dreams of golden dew drop honey sunsets and crystal clear glittering water and gray-blue eyes and Bucky Bucky Bucky.

He dreams of Bucky.

He dreams of Bucky.

He dreams of Bucky.

And when he wakes, he doesn’t know if he should smile or cry

 

* * *

 

 

His mother drops by with a gift.

Paint.

He finally has fucking paint and he’s pretty sure he’s never felt a rush like this until he realizes that she didn’t bring any paper or canvas to paint on.

“Oh my gosh, I can’t believe how stupid I am,” she fusses.

And Steve might be crushed, absolutely 100% crushed, but he’s still a nice goddamn person so he shakes his head and says, “No, it’s okay. Thank you so much.”

Because…it’s the thought that counts. She actually thought about it—what he might actually want. And that’s enough.

When she leaves, he grabs the vase of dead tulips that she forgot to take again and paints new ones on the sides. Orange and gold and lavender. Right onto the vase. And that’s enough too.

 

* * *

 

 

Another week goes by and Steve asks and asks and asks to be brought outside and maybe three times out of ten do his requests take any effect—usually with the new nurse, who has obviously not built up an adequate Steve Rogers Badgering® tolerance.

Every time he makes it outside, his eyes scan for that illogically familiar head of hair. And he knows he’s dumb for doing it—is probably going out of his goddamn mind, actually--but it doesn’t stop him. He looks for it. For him. Even though _he_ can’t be here because _he_ is not real.

He doesn’t see him again, though. And slowly, Steve begins to accept that he’s probably just losing his shit.

That little hope that was growing like the marigolds in the courtyard is trampled.

 

* * *

 

 

Steve wakes up in a monstrously awful mood. He can just feel it all. The pain. The hopelessness. The seconds ticking away before all of this becomes nothing and he becomes nothing and it won’t matter that he suffered in the end because he’ll be gone.

Steve is at the absolute end of his rope, sunk into the lowest depth of this shit hole, and he doesn’t care who knows it.

“Fuck off,” he tells the nurse when she comes to take him for chemo, because no. _No_. There’s no fucking point to this anymore and he’s just not going to do it.

But she insists, she’s not the new one, she _knows_. And she’s not taking no for an answer, which really fucking pisses Steve off because, “I’m saying NO. I’m not going! You can’t force me—you don’t have my _fucking_ consent!”

But she’s bringing his wheelchair over, and she’s got this look on her face, and if he had the strength he had before getting sick, Steve would use all of it to fight this—if **Bucky** was here, this wouldn’t be fucking happening right now, none of it would, he wouldn’t be going out of his mind or crying or suffering like this when he’s done nothing wrong and he can’t _fucking take this anymore_ —

Steve starts yelling. _Yelling_. At the top of his lungs. And the nurse knows enough to back off and go for the phone on the wall and call for the doctor or someone--anyone to get this kid a goddamn sedative because Steve is grabbing at the tubes of paint on his bedside table and squeezing the pigment gray and blue and gray and blue into his hands and then slamming his palms down onto the fucking awful cream colored walls that he’s been staring at for God knows how long because no one has the fucking courtesy to treat him like he’s not dying and now at least there’s some goddamn color on the walls, even if he hears “STOP THAT” and “PLEASE CALM DOWN” and yes he’s wasting all of his paint but when he smears his hands across the wall and the color flows beneath his fingerprints he feels like he has some sort of fucking purpose in this world.

And then there’s the feeling of hands on him. One by one. On his arms and his chest. Holding him down. And their voices are muted but he feels the telltale prick of a needle. And then he feels nothing.

 

* * *

 

 

When he dreams

he dreams of Bucky.

Holding him

in his arms until

everything

            feels

                        a little

                                    bit

                                                better.

 

He dreams of Bucky and

he clings onto him and

he buries his face in his chest and

he says “I miss you.”

I miss you I miss you I miss you

until Bucky kisses him on the top of his head and

everything

            feels

                        a little

                                    bit

                                                better.

 

He dreams of Bucky and tells him

sorry I didn’t say goodbye

sorry I didn’t say goodbye

sorry I didn’t say goodbye

I miss you

 

But then Bucky holds him in his arms

and doesn’t let go

and tells him he loves him

and tells him he cares about him

and tells him he misses him

and everything

                        feels

                                    a little

                                                bit

                                                            better.

 

* * *

 

 

When Steve’s eyes open, he’s not in his room.

He can tell because it smells different and there’s no blue and gray streaks of paint splattered across the wall.

When Steve’s eyes open, he thinks he’s still dreaming, because someone is looking back at him. In their own bed, across from him.

“I can’t sleep either,” the boy says, his voice is deep, warm, and Steve doesn’t need the lights on to see the chestnut hair that sweeps into his eyes.

His gray eyes.

Steve blinks. Is he still dreaming?

“I’ve never seen you around before,” the boy wonders out loud, propping his head up with one hand without losing eye contact. Like everything is normal.

And Steve feels like he’s had this conversation before. “We’ve…” he croaks, throat dry from being drugged with sedatives. “We’ve never met before.”

Not technically.

The boy shrugs, accepting the answer, before kicking off his blanket and blinking inquisitively at him in the dark. “Let’s be friends.”

And for some strange, out-of-body-experience reason, Steve feels like he’s come full circle, his heart jumping to life in his chest. “Okay.”

“Can you walk?”

Steve’s brow furrows, caught off-guard by the question until he sees how the guy’s eyes are focused on the wheelchair near the foot of his bed. “Oh. Yeah. Just kinda…”

“Hurts to?” he finishes for him.

Steve nods.

“What’s wrong with you?”

It’s then that Steve realizes that he doesn’t have his hat—that it must be in his old room, where they are no doubt trying to scrub his newest creation off the wall. “Leukemia.”

But it’s kind of nice to be here, with someone else. Especially this guy, even if he makes Steve wonder if he’s alive, dreaming, or dead. Because this is the guy he saw outside. This is the guy who caught his eyes because he bears a striking resemblance to—

“Sorry, that’s a bummer. What’s your name, by the way?”

That’s when he realizes that the boy is out of bed, walking over to crack open the window that he just now noticed on the opposite side of the room. And there’s…there’s fresh air…and the sound of crickets…and the smell of grass…and-- “Steve,” he says, a small grin playing across his lips for the first time since—“My name’s Steve.”

And then the boy smiles, rocks back on his heels a little, and says: “I’m James. Nice to meet you.”

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading and for being supportive of this fic. It really means a lot to me to hear what you guys think. Your very sweet comments are, of course, always appreciated as well! 
> 
> Would anyone be interested in a short follow-up to this? I'm kind of interested in that. Let me know.
> 
> Please feel free to comment if the spirit moves you!  
> You can also find me (by the same name) and come say hi on Tumblr. I like to make new friends and would love to hear what you think :)


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